Page 31 of Wild Hearts

"Let me think, let me think. You need something to go around you with no arm or leg holes. Oh, I know! Shannon has a black corselet. We can take the laces out, wrap it around you and thread the laces through again."

"Alexandria, bring that little dagger you got at the fair."

"What do you intend?" asked Alexandria, her eyes wide.

"I intend to defend myself at any cost. Go quickly, before he returns."

Tabrizia looked down at herself in dismay. The corselet pushed her breasts higher, exposing the upper half completely. Alexandria surveyed her optimistically. "The front comes down low enough, to cover you, but the back is cut high, to allow for your buttocks."

"You mean I have a bare bum!" concluded Tabrizia bluntly.

"I'll put another log on the fire and poke it up into a good blaze. If you are still cold, you'll have to wrap in the fur cover on Paris's bed. I must go, Tabby. He wouldn't hesitate to beat me."

"You don't need to tell me your brother is uncivilized. I know it," she said, tucking the dirk welt down between her breasts. "You had better make yourself scarce for the rest of the day. He knows full well that you are involved in this up to your eyebrows."

When she was left alone, her anger festered within her. She despised herself for having cowered before him on the sands. She should have flown at his face and scratched his eyes out. She sat on the bed and stared at her iron bracelets, willing them to dissolve. Of course, they didn't, but she felt a power growing within her that would explode the instant she was released. She didn't know how long he would leave her chained, but the longer it was, the stronger she would grow. Rogue Cockburn was in for the fiercest display of temper he'd ever witnessed! He would come to ravish her, but she swore she would die before she would allow him to take her. She hated him with a passion she had never felt before. Her blood was up now. A true redhead's fury was building within her, and when it was unleashed, he would feel its full impact.

She ran her hand over the thick wolf pelt on the bed. The man lived in absolute luxury. Witness the black velvet bed gown with dragons embroidered in gold thread. Her eyes fell on his bedside table, where reposed a jewel-encrusted golden goblet. Lying negligently beside it was his emerald earring, his diamond ring, and a huge cairngorm clasp from one of his cloaks. The walls were hung with rich tapestries to keep out the cold and, at the same time, add beauty to the chamber. No rushes on Cockburn's floor! Deep-piled rugs from the Orient, probably taken at sea from some poor, unsuspecting China clipper. A window embrasure was piled high with soft velvet cushions, above which the long, slitted window looked out over the purple Lammermuirs.

Darkness fell. The fireplace cast grotesque shadows across the walls. A log fell, and she jumped out of her skin. Her heart was still pounding when she heard the unmistakable sound of his footsteps. He entered carrying a torch, which he set in a wall bracket. She sat absolutely motionless, and waited. He lighted candles on the mantelpiece and on the desk against the far wall. The room, now flooded with light, showed not a miserable chained and frightened girl but a woman who stood defiantly before him with eyes blazing: He blinked as he beheld the erotic garment and black silk stockings. His desire for her stunned him with its sudden intensity. No girl this, but a woman ripe and luscious to quench his insatiable thirst. He decided upon a placating tone and began, "Tabrizia, I am sorry for my accursed temper. When I began to cool down and come to my senses, I realized that the longer I kept you chained, the more your anger would build."

She kept absolutely still and tried to breathe slowly.

"Let me unlock these manacles. I'll have some supper brought up for us, and we can be private." He knelt first and unlocked the manacle around her ankle. She held up her wrists, encircled by the heavy irons, and watched intently as he turned the key and unlocked the chains. The instant she was free she screamed, "Bastard!" She picked up his black robe and ran over and threw it onto the fire. "Whoreson!" she spat, taking the torch from the bracket and setting it to the bed hangings.

Bemused by the temper tantrum and the bared buttocks, he asked, "Would you burn my bed?"

"My only regret is that you are not in it, you swine!"

He quickly smothered the flames, but while he was doing so, she grabbed up the jewels from the bedstand and ran toward the slitted window, intending to fling them into the wind. He was too quick for her. He grabbed her hands and forced her to drop their contents to the rug, then his arms swiftly encircled her, and he clamped her against his long, hard body. His mouth found hers, and for once his kiss was not brutal. He savored her mouth tenderly; his hands slipped down to caress her bare buttocks and press that part of her body for which he longed.

Still panting from her exertions, she was almost blinded by her anger. She snatched the dagger and with full force drove it toward his hand. At, that precise moment, he moved his hand to her thigh, and the dagger plunged into the cheek of her bottom. She screamed in pain as the dagger fell to the floor and the blood streamed down her leg.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Paris exclaimed, alarmed at the writhing pain visible on her face. He held her at arm's length, saw the self-inflicted wound and urgently inspected it. Relief flooded him when he saw it was superficial.

She clung to him, sobbing, "Paris, help me, I'm stabbed!"

"Hush, sweeting, hush. It's not nearly as bad as you imagine."

Her hand came away from her buttock, scarlet with blood. White-faced, she sobbed, "I'm dying!"

He smiled to reassure her.

"You laugh while my lifeblood drains from me?" she gasped, stricken.

"My lamb, my honey love, I'm sorry. Come, let me tend it quickly." He lifted her in his arms and laid her facedown on his bed. From a cupboard in the corner of the chamber he took a wooden box filled with bandages and ointments used to tend many of his own wounds over the years. He washed the wound with gentle hands and applied a clean pad, putting a deal of pressure on it. Her tears filled his pillow as he murmured soothing words to her. He could see that the blood flowed freely in spite of his efforts, so he said calmly, "Do you think you could be very brave and let me put a stitch in it?"

"Yes... no, I couldn't! Perhaps you'd better... oh, I don't know!" she wailed as the searing pain grew.

"Your bottom is so beautiful, I couldn't bear it to be scarred."

"You are laughing again!" she accused.

"I couldn't be that cruel," he assured her. "Here now. I've mixed a little laudanum with some brandy." He held the jeweled goblet to her lips, and she choked the fiery liquid down. He waited for it to take some effect. She cried out as he efficiently put two small stitches into her flesh, but he noted with relief that she didn't scream. He hoisted her against his shoulder and carried her up the short flight of stone steps to her own chamber. He pulled back the covers and laid her facedown.

"You'll be asleep soon," he soothed, brushing her hair back from her face with tender fingers. "You must admit the situation was comic, darling. I never saw anyone stab themselves in the arse before."

"You are a rotten beast, Rogue Cockburn. Don't think for one moment I shan't pay you back!"

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